Suffer my typos, please
I’m typing this pre-coffee after a night of Madison restlessness.
I got some big news yesterday about a friend. She’s having a crisis and I really think it’s going to be ok but right now it’s at the point where everything feels very scary and undetermined.
I got the news earlier in the morning and then didn’t get a follow-up call ’til the evening. The rest of the day I paced around and tried to remind myself that this wasn’t happening to me and wondering if feeling so caught up was empathy or bad boundaries. I finally decided that it was both.
When I first got the call, I immediately wanted to get myself all tied up in the situation. I wanted to fix it or at the very least squish myself in there as a support beam so I could stay involved. Fortunately my better instincts prevailed and I stayed reflective, comforting and encouraging. But really I wanted to say, “Here, let me take care of this for you — here’s what you should do.”
I think this is good practice for when my kids start getting older and needing me less. I already have to sit on my hands sometimes not to “help” Noah (i.e., mess with his life in the guise of improving it) over little things like what he’s having for breakfast or whether or not he’s wearing a coat.
And then there’s this other realization I had. As I was scurrying around the house packing and worrying, I realized that I had completely discounted this whole other group of people far more involved in this crisis than I am. (Mostly I’m a bystander with valid reason to be a very interested bystander.) What surprised me was the sense of loss I had. I like being important to this person. I like getting the first phone call. But if all goes well, I will move down the totem pole as I should. I sat there in front of the box I was trying to fill and thought, “This is a taste of empty next syndrome.” Then I was a little sad and wanted to go hug the kids but Madison was sleeping (and you never, ever want to wake a sleeping baby merely for sentimental reasons) and Noah was busy killing aliens on my laptop. So I called Brett instead. It will be much easier to let my babies go if I have Brett around to lean on.
edited to add: Madison calls her bellybutton “beddy-but.” So you can see how I worry about missing her when she moves out in 17 or so years. She’s too cute to let grow-up without a fight!
“This is a taste of empty next syndrome.”
Intentional? As in, “… next!” If so, brilliant. If not, BRILLIANT.
I like the squishing yourself in there like a beam. And I’ll say the same thing you said to me about that alert.
Yes you will move down the chain, but the nice thing is you become contemporaries kind of, in the mean time you will still be the big sister kind of figure called.
One of my friends also revealed to me that she is having a crisis, and I have been similarly sick and empathetic over the situation. Every time I remember, I feel this punch of sadness and I have to keep reminding myself that it isn’t happening to me.
Good luck to your friend.
I know exactly how you feel. I’ve had to curb my need to jump in and “save” people too. But it’s so against my nature, that it’s hard and makes me feel disconnected in some odd way.
Nice to know I’m not the only one who sometimes feels overinvested in other people’s well being.
You expressed it way better than I ever could, that’s for sure!
Oh Dawn, I can so relate. Thanks for sharing and making me smile in recognition.